


A Memorable Hat for an Instantly Forgettable Head

by Virtuella



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-19
Updated: 2010-10-19
Packaged: 2017-10-12 18:41:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Virtuella/pseuds/Virtuella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little childhood story about guess who.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Memorable Hat for an Instantly Forgettable Head

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Archives of Excellence January challenge "Before the Beginning." The task was to show a canon character at a time prior to canon events and give some indication as to what they would become.

This was Uberwald, also known as The Spooky Empire, also known as That Bloody Fairy Tale Country. Rules applied here that were much stranger than those elsewhere on the Disc, as if those weren’t eccentric enough already. In Uberwald, thunder rumbled when it was dramatically required. In Uberwald, you barred your windows at night and thieves were really the least of your worries. In Uberwald, the haunted castles housed real ghosts and worse and the gingerbread cottages could induce serious tooth decay. 

And this was a village like any other in Uberwald. Huddled together stood pretty houses, their shutters painted with hearts or bird motifs. The jigsaw ornaments under the roofs must have kept several generations of carpenters busy. There was the Rathaus, of course, and the Kirk **1)** ,and there was also the schoolhouse. The long, dingy corridors smelled of wet coats and cheap floor polish. Twenty-seven five-year-olds in the nursery class laboured over the task for the afternoon. A low murmur of voices and the light from the dribbling candles in their wall-mounted holders gave the room a comfortable atmosphere, though it was decidedly chilly. Only a meagre fire burnt in the hearth. Since the school supplied no firewood and each class had to make do with whatever the pupils brought in from home, Frau Tissel had allowed them to wear hats and scarves in the classroom during this cold spell. She sat at her desk, with her shawl wrapped around her shoulders, cutting coloured paper into strips for a mysterious purpose she would reveal to the children the following week.

“Frau Tissel?”

She looked up. It was the boy whose name she always forgot.

“Yes, dear?”

“My scissors are blunt.”

There was no denying this. It was not by chance. Sharp scissors were dangerous for little fingers. The only pair of razor sharp scissors in the whole room was in her own hand.

“Could I use yours, just to do this one tricky bit? I want it to be nice and neat.”

“Well, be very careful. And do it right here, where I can keep an eye on you.”

“Of course, Frau Tissel. Thank you.” He gave her a big smile and began to cut a smooth curve out of his sheet of cardboard. “You are such a great teacher, Frau Tissel. I really love this craft lesson. Hat making is such fun!  And you are always so good to us and never scold. I think you must be the best teacher in the world.”

He skipped back to his place and left her with a warm feeling that seemed to be located mostly around the roots of her hair. When she resumed her own task of cutting the paper strips, she realised that she had blunt children’s scissors in her hand. He had walked off with hers!

She rose from her seat to go and reclaim them. Where was he? Which was his seat? Why could she never remember what he looked like? He had been wearing a bright yellow bobble hat with a pattern of blue diamonds. She could see no such hat now. If she could remember his name, she could have called him over, but as it was, she pretended to check something on the blackboard and then sat down again. She put the scissors and paper aside and began to write notes into her marking book.

Five minutes later, when she was beginning to feel irritated by having to hold the book at an angle in the tiny space available, she decided that it was about time she cleared her desk. She walked over to the crafts cupboard carrying a tray of paint pots on which perched, dangerously balanced, the pencil tins and the box with the paper strips. She could barely see over the top.

“Here, let me help you, Frau Tissel,” piped up a voice, and little hands opened the cupboard door for her.

“Thank you,” she said and placed her load on the shelves. As she arranged the paint pots in neat rows, she noticed that the gold paint, the one that was only meant for special occasions like gilding the nuts on the Hogswatch Wreath, was missing. She looked around. All the children were at their places, busily bent over their work. With a sigh, she returned to the teacher’s desk. She would clear out the craft cupboard after school and see where she had misplaced the gold paint.

“Frau Tissel?”

That boy again!

“I’m very sorry, I have accidentally taken your scissors,” he said and dropped them on the desk.

“Oh.” She felt slightly confused. “That’s alright. Thank you.”

“Can I see the Disc again, please?”

“Well...”

“Please!”

She opened her desk drawer, picked up the model of the Disc on the back of the four elephants which stood on the giant turtle **2)** and held it up in front of his face. Whatever happened, she would not let go of it.

“What happens to all the water at the edge?” asked the boy.

“It falls down the Rimfall,” replied the teacher.

“Why doesn’t the Disc run out of water then?”

“Because it evaporates and the clouds drift back over the Disc and make it rain.”

“Wow,” said the boy. “That’s a lot of rain!”

“Yes. It falls mostly on Llamedos.”

“Thank you for letting me see it again, Frau Tissel,” said the boy as he stepped down from the teacher’s dais.

The teacher cast a suspicious glace at the model in her hand, but it seemed to be the genuine article and so she put it back into the drawer with an air of satisfaction. She continued to write into her marking book, but found that her quill had frayed. When she opened the little box that held her supply of goose feathers, it was empty. She was sure it had been full the previous day.

Where was that boy? Why could she never remember his face? It was most vexing!

She considered briefly standing up and addressing the whole class, but she realised how ridiculous that would be. Never was she going to be the kind of teacher who threatened children to return her Missing Item or else the whole class would be on detention! She had no proof. She was powerless.

The end of the lesson approached without further incidents. The teacher walked from desk to desk and praised each pupil’s work. Rosie had made a beautiful bonnet adorned with tissue paper flowers. Hans had shaped a sheet of black cardboard into a cone and decorated it with stars – he never missed an opportunity to declare his intention of becoming a wizard one day. Margarete’s creation of blue velvet scraps and white lace paper would have done any fine lady proud.

And then she came to the desk of That Boy and stared.

“A golden hat with wings?” she said. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” said the boy whose name she could never remember. “It just seemed right.”

 **1)** A sort of multi-purpose temple, with a pretty spire.

 **2)** Even remote parts of Uberwald had let go of the old myth that the world was a sphere. This was the Century of the Fruitbat after all!


End file.
